*Warning: to any male readership I might have, other than Monk, of course, this post is a little personal. Proceed with reckless abandon if you wish, but don't say you twern't warned.
So last night was another devil yoga class. On Sunday I was convinced I was not going to attend. I told myself I didn't need this kind of grief in my life. Sheesh, life is hard enough without letting yoga stress you out.
And isn't that a little ironic?
The thing that is supposed to make me calm only makes me break out in a sweat and well up with fear and dread. And sometimes giggles. Especially when the nice yoga lady talks about finding our cool breath. It was a 106 degrees here yesterday - I figure the only way I'm gonna find my cool breath is by eatin' a snow cone under the ceiling fan with my feet in a bucket of ice water. That or find those nice people from the Mentos commercials - they have cool breath too.
I've also figured out that I'm a yoga dyslexic.
Most people when doing yoga are trying to find their inner peace. Me? I'm trying to keep my pee(ce) inner. Go figure.
Last night we were cruising along with the inhaling, exhaling, the closing of the eyes (why oh, WHY must we close our eyes?? Apparently I have an eye closing phobia of some strange sort because I just DON'T like it!) and I was thinking positive thoughts. "I can do this. I can breath like this. Ooo dang, I want some pizza." Well okay, most of my thoughts were centered.
Anyway, not long after the breathing and my pizza craving the nice yoga lady then said a word that struck fear into my very non-yoga loving heart.
What? Did she say squat? I panicked. Fear welled up in me and I debated fleeing from the room or faking a contraction. If I thought the Goddess pose was bad, a squat would seal my fate for the incontinent woman that I am, for sure.
You see y'all, after birthing 5 children things are not the same.
Things in the nether regions. The old girl ain't what she used to be. There is a reason women are instructed to do their Kegel exercises. If you do not, I promise you your pelvic floor will fall in. G'head, ask me how I know.
My midwife is aware of my little problemo and has me working on it. I also confided in the nice yoga lady who assured me we could modify some of the poses and exercises and such until sufficient strengthening was attained.
So, I'm not sure if what came next was highly comical or possibly the most humiliating experience of my entire life.
She tells the whole class to squat (to which I had I already decided that there was NO WAY ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH I WAS GOING TO DO) and then proceeds to turn and look at me and say, "Except you. I have something else for you."
Do y'all remember back in 4th grade when there was one strange kid in class who couldn't eat chocolate, for whatever reason it was, and the teacher makes some weird, special provision for him and next thing you know the whole class is eyeballing him like he's some freak?
Well, last night the freak was me.
The whooole class is now staring holes through me the size of yoga balls. And me? I'm ready to die on the spot. So what do I do? I say something stupid, of which I will not repeat lest I humiliate myself further. Because, you know, I'm so sharp at thinking on my feet and all. Let's just say I referred to bed pans. 'Nuff said?
Then, right before the whole class, a "special provision" is made for me and my squatting issue! And I am to try it out right there in front of them! I swear to you it was like having to give birth in front of strangers! M-O-R-T-I-F-I-E-D. I succumbed to my humiliation and was pleasantly surprised though. For no sooner had I assumed the position, than I realized that I liked the position!
It didn't hurt my back, knees, elbows, wrists, feet, backside, calves, thighs or any other body part! In fact, it was the most comfortable, non-pretzel producing yoga position I've been in in 3 weeks. And I said so. So my humiliation was for naught. Do you all know what this means?
I like A yoga position!!!
Well butter my buns and call me a biscuit....there might be hope for me yet!